


In the Gardens

by fichuntie



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Exhibitionism, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Power Imbalance, Sexual Slavery, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-29 22:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15082634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fichuntie/pseuds/fichuntie
Summary: Laurent had thought it would bring him satisfaction. Since whipping hadn’t brought Daminanos to heel, Laurent had let the pet Ancel humiliate him in the gardens. But Laurent doesn't expect to stumble on Govart and another Akielon slave, one who doesn't deserve the same abuse as the prince-killer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> lol this has so many tags mainly due to canon things.  
> [my tumblr is fichuntie](https://fichuntie.tumblr.com/)

Laurent had thought it would bring him satisfaction. Since whipping hadn’t brought Damianos to heel, Laurent had wanted to inflict the same cruelties on him that his murder of Auguste had unleashed. He hadn’t even needed to orchestrate the humiliation: Vannes, Berenger, and his pet had neatly laid it out for him. Under the Regent, nobles had become more lascivious in their perversions. The prince-killer left beside a garden bench like a stud to a breeding bench. Vannes couldn’t resist. 

His words had been cool and meticulously chosen in the garden. Each instruction to the red-haired slave was meant to demean Damianos, take him apart and bare the pathetic man to the court of Vere. Laurent couldn’t forget the sight of Damianos’ heaving chest with the pet’s pale fingers trailing down his abs. Laurent’s voice was calm and unaffected even as Damianos had begun heaving pants under the pet’s mouth. Each of them showed the muscles on his flanks, rippling, but he had nowhere to go but into the soft heat of the pet’s mouth. The picture was perfect: the pale lines of Ancel’s fine boned hands, adorned with jewels, on the dark thighs of his slave. Vannes had sighed contentedly, her hands mirroring the teasing on her own thighs. Berenger was severe, but his eyes caught on the pink lips of Ancel guiltily. His hands twisted in his brown sleeves as if to stop himself from tearing his delicate pet from the powerful thrusts of Damianos. Laurent had watched Damianos carefully for each expression on his honest face as he was humiliated. 

Roiling disgust overwhelmed Laurent. He hid his face against the flowers. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t use the depravity his uncle reveled in. The same exhibitionism that led to Nicaise paraded around court. Worse, he’d turned on Damianos when he was defending a slave, one of his own people from abuse. He hadn’t expected a noble brute. Laurent pulled away and set off among the mazes. He’d never thought he’d using the groping hands of a pet the way Nicaise was used. He lost track of time, barely paying attention to the twisting vines and potted trees he passed. He quickly walked the gardens, not concerned with the turns he made. It made his duplicity worse, turned on a man defending the last connection to his people. 

He turned another wall of shrubbery and stumbled on Govart. Govart, who seemed even boorishly larger against delicate flowers, and one of the other Akielon slaves. The man paused, hefting the slave on his shoulder, as though that was an excuse not to bow for his prince.

“Govart,” he said archly.


	2. Chapter 2

**

“Prince Laurent. Quite the Akielon you’ve got, putting him in the ring like that” Govart said. 

“You weren’t promised a win, if you’re too incompetent to earn it against a chalis addled slave,” Laurent replied. “Who is this?”

“An Akielon slave. Over friendly with yours,” Govart laughed, clutching higher at the boy’s ass. Clearly Govart was smarting at his loss in the ring and meant to take it out on the slave before plotting with his uncle who in turn was probably taking his stymie on Nicaise. The slave draped over Govart’s shoulder was pretty and compliant. His long legs looked delicate under Govart’s proprietary hold, and the slave didn’t kick. If he did kick, he’d flash the gardens with how his chiton rode up over Govart’s shoulder. Apparently some Akielons have modesty. 

“Put him down,” Laurent ordered. Govart dumped the slave on the ground. The slave fell hard, awkwardly sprawled on the ground before quickly shifting to the prostration all Akielion slaves seemed to. Laurent thought he caught a flash of pink on the upper thigh, but he’d moved to quickly. The slave’s graceful curve of back bowed his head so deeply that tawny locks curtained his face. 

“He’s a pretty thing, at least for an Akielon. Prettier under someone though,” Govart laughed. Laurent ignored Govart’s leer, focusing on the slave.

“Your name?” Laurent asked. His Akielion was better suited to diplomatic purposes, addressing fellow lords. He’d never learned how to speak to slaves and barely wanted to speak to anyone in the brutish language. If not for the regent, he’d never have to.

The slave lifted his head, barely, from the ground so his reply could be heard.

“This one’s name is Erasmus, if it pleases your majesty.”

“Your purpose in the household?”

“This one was meant to bring pleasure, your majesty, in service to the royal court.” The slave somehow managed to draw attention to the gold collar at his neck with the slightest movement of his body without raising his head. Laurent was impressed. On a pet, the coy flash of jewelry would raise their value to nobles who sought to flaunt their wealth and salivated at the collarbones of pretty boys. But on a Erasmus, it was a distasteful reminder of the cruel permanence of Akielon slavery. 

“A bed slave. Did you serve the Akielon prince, Damianos?”

“This one did not have that honor,” Erasmus murmured, his voice clearly wistful. Laurent scoffed. It was a blessing not to be put under the brute prince as a slave, Laurent thought. Even idiotic Govart knew it was a mercy not to be mounted by the savage, and he had been offered a choice of the risk. But then, Damianos had been gentle with Erasmus even while humiliated in the garden, and kindness was rare in Veretian court. 

“But you were in the palace?”

“This one was training to serve the palace, yes,” the slave said.

“Lift you head and look at me,” Laurent said. Laurent could see from his fair looks that he would match Damianos’ supposed type well. His hair was almost gold with a youthful shine, especially set off by the dark leaves and grass. Govart’s gaze was hungry on the slave, like the courtiers peering at Damianos tied to lattice work. Perhaps once Erasmus completed his training, he would have been sent off to the bed of the prince but Kastor’s betrayal had upset that. Still, he might have useful information. 

“Do you speak Veretian?” Laurent continued. 

“This one lives to please and so is in pain to say that this one cannot,” the slave said, haltingly. “This one can speak and recite Patran.” He offered this up with beseeching hazel eyes. 

Laurent made the calculation quickly: the Akielon delegation of slaves was unable to understand Veretian if the prized chattel for the prince could not. And with the regent’s taste, they’d be left at the mercy of his uncle’s soldiers who were too uneducated to speak Patran or Akielon. The regent didn’t care, but the prized slaves from Akielon were going to be brutalized and blame themselves for not understanding their new masters. If Govart was given free rights to them, they had no protection from the cruelest of the regent’s men. 

Laurent looked down at the slave. His simple chiton showed the elegant slope of his shoulder, marred with finger shaped bruises and the red indents of Govart’s hand. The slave had dipped his head low. His fingers twisted in the fabric of his chiton, pulling it down again and again. If you knew to look, Erasmus couldn’t hide the blistered flesh, three clear lines underneath the hem of the translucent fabric. Laurent remembered the way Damianos’ hands had twisted on his golden cuffs as Ancel mouthed at him. The metal had rung out, clearly like a bell, each time he had pulled away. He remembered the hopeless clutching of his own hands on red fabric, but shook his head. Pointless. 

“Look up at me, Erasmus. I shouldn’t have to repeat myself,” Laurent said. “How have you been treated in Vere?”

“The Regent wouldn’t like you interfering with his training of his property,” Govart drew himself up, as his beady eyes darted between them. Laurent gave him a withering glare.

The slave managed to keep his face turned towards Laurent, but his eyes were frantic. Like a spooked horse, his hazel eyes were dilated as he cast around the garden. Crystal like and watery, Erasmus’ eyes locked on Prince Laurent. The slave took a short breath, the soft rise of his chest clear under the gauzy chiton. But he choked on his response. Laurent could see the faint trembling as he tried but couldn’t answer.

Govart huffed, uninterested in this back and forth in a foreign language. “The Regent will be wanting his slave back.” He grabbed the hair of the slave, his large hands already twisting the curly locks. Erasmus made no noise of pain, even when Govart’s hand tugged cruelly and lifted him bodily from the ground. 

“My uncle has no interest in such an elder,” Laurent said. “Besides, I am here, and he is not. Let the slave go and leave us.”

Govart didn’t let the slave go. Instead, Govart pushed the slave into the garden grass, rubbing Erasmus’ face into the dirt. Govart grunted something at the slave’s ear with a final tug on his hair. Always insolent like the regent he served. He stepped over the slave as one might over garbage. Govart stomped out of the gardens. Laurent watched with his cool blue eyes. 

“I think it is time you told me exactly what the Regent has done to you,” Laurent said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really wish we had seen what went on btwn laurent and erasmus. i need to see the soft squishy side of ice snake boy laurent.


End file.
